40 Years of Sacrifice
by authoressnebula
Summary: Coda to 4x10: Sam isn't going to stand there and let hell have a second more from Dean.


Dean's words flowed through Sam's head, and with them, a thousand different emotions. Dean had been pushed to the point of breaking in Hell. Had been forced to do the impossible, and the thought of what had to have happened to Dean in order for that to happen made Sam want to throw up.

_Forty years._

Sam had to close his eyes for a minute and breathe. His eyes were stinging, tears slipping through, because he'd expected torture. He'd expected terrible things past fathoming to happen to Dean, expected Hell to take a little longer than Earth time, but that? What Alastair had done to him? That was the cruelest of them all.

His stomach churned at the thought of Dean being forced to be the one to torture them, just to keep himself off the rack. _God_. Flayed, beaten, carved up, then made whole again. A monstrous exaggeration of Prometheus, bound and broken and a plaything of the gods.

_Forty years_.

Sam had to shudder in a breath, because dammit, he should've found _something_. Anything to get Dean out, anything to stop Hell from keeping his brother for almost a _lifetime_. The guilt twisted his stomach into something recognizable, something he hadn't felt since the summer of four months that hadn't been four months for Dean. Forty _years_.

A choked sound made him reopen his eyes, and they widened even further when they caught sight of Dean. Dean, who was still crying, gasping for air now, _sobbing_. He kept rubbing at his face, trying to get the tears to stop, and finally left his hand over his face.

Sam let the beer bottle fall from his fingers, his thirst of minutes ago long gone. He slid over until he was right behind his brother, reached out with both arms, and pulled an unresisting Dean against his chest. "Sammy," Dean choked, and Sam had no clue what Dean was asking for.

But he damn well knew what Dean needed. "I've got you," Sam whispered, his voice shaky. "I've got you, and I'm not letting go."

Dean folded completely against him, little hiccups and harsh, stuttered breaths. Sam closed his eyes and tightened his grip on him, and really felt what he was holding. A warm body that was here, one that Uriel had promised to ship back to Hell because the angel freakin' _felt_ like it. The one that had made a sacrifice, again, for Sam. Even if it had turned out the way they'd hoped, it had still been a sacrifice.

And suddenly, something became very important to say. "It wasn't your fault," Sam said, even as Dean rubbed at his red eyes and tried to breathe in deep breaths. "It wasn't."

"Sammy, I-"

"It wasn't your fault," Sam repeated, more firmly this time. "What you were put through...god, Dean, what you _survived_...you held on a hell of a lot longer than anyone else would've." _Forty years in the pit._ "You sacrificed yourself to try and save others, and Hell forced you to do what it wanted you to do. You were the tool, not the driving force."

Dean leaned against him for a moment longer, then sat back up against the edge of the car, wiping his face one last time. Tears still rolled down his cheeks, and Sam knew they would for awhile. He'd bottled it up, and it had been viciously uncorked. Sam knew what that felt like.

Sam's hand was still on Dean's shoulder, though, and it felt as if Dean was almost pushing into it. Sam squeezed, gently, and Dean closed his eyes. Sam had to close his own eyes and swallow down the guilt again, this time at the selfish thought that was arising.

Because deep down inside Sam, he was secretly glad that Dean had given in. He was glad Dean had done it, and saved a part of himself for himself. Dean wouldn't see it that way, but Sam did. He wouldn't tell Dean now. Not when Dean was still breaking, still trying to put himself back together. Hell, Sam would probably never tell him, because Dean wouldn't understand how much he was worth. He always sacrificed for others, and the one selfish act that Hell had forced him to commit was tearing him apart.

Now, though, Hell was a glimmer in the distance, and Dean wouldn't sacrifice himself anymore. Not with Sam there to keep it from happening, not with Sam there to keep him safe.

They stayed there, tucked on the small off-beat road, leaning against each other, Sam firm and strong behind his brother. Even as Dean slowed his trembling, his breathing becoming steadier with each passing moment, Sam still stayed behind him.

Hell had gotten its forty years. It wasn't getting a second more.

END


End file.
